


You've Got to Mean It

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Witch Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 07:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4129660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s a fast learner. Smart, though she’s loath to admit it, and he has a natural flair for magic. Probably that legacy blood, she supposes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've Got to Mean It

He’s a fast learner. Smart, though she’s loath to admit it, and he has a natural flair for magic. Probably that legacy blood, she supposes. 

Still, it’s satisfying to introduce new elements, new spells, new challenges and have Sam tackle them eagerly. Certainly, he’s skittish about some of the darker blood rituals, but she know’s he’ll get there. They always do. It is only a matter of time. 

“Rowena?” His voice breaks her out of her reverie, and she blinks to bring herself back to the moment. The spell he cast has worked, in a loose sense, but it is weak. 

“How many times do I have to repeat myself, Sam?” she asks lightly, skimming her fingers down the length of his forearm before taking the remaining herbs from his grasp. Rowena notes the goosebumps that race across his skin, the faint shiver of muscle, and she hides her smirk by turning toward the ritual bowl. “If you want to do it right -” a twist and flick sends the herbs scattering into the mix, quickly followed by a blinding flash of light “- you have to  _mean_ it.”

She pats him on the shoulder with a sharp smile, sashaying back toward her own work table as he sets up to try again. This time, he glances back at her before flinging his own herbs into the bowl. A flash of light, easily as bright as her own, signals his success. 

* * *

Sam’s a fun but dangerous plaything. He’s onto her game soon enough, and can dish back everything she throws at him. There’s a reluctance, though, something that holds him back, and Rowena is determined to crush it, one way or another. 

It isn’t long before her opportunity arises. 

Rowena has watched him fail time and time again with the new spell, unable to produce the desired effects. She can see the tension build in the set of his shoulders and the briskness of his step as he dumps out the mess of wasted ingredients, muttering the incantation to himself as he sets up again. She creeps closer for a better view, eyes skating over the tight muscle of his forearms. 

She waits until he’s moved back to the chair, intent on poring over the text before his next attempt. It’s easy for her thinner frame to slip into his lap, insinuating herself between his body and the table. 

“You’ve let yourself become distracted,” she smirks, sliding down his chest and belly to cup him where he’s already hard. “You can’t afford distraction, Samuel.” 

There’s only a moment of hesitation before his hands are on her, nearly ripping her dress as he pulls it over her head, sending a tumble of red curls over bare shoulder and bare breasts. Sam’s hands are hard in their grip, rough in the way they tweak her nipples and stroke down her back. Deftly, Rowena frees him from his jeans, and it’s with no effort at all that he picks her up so he can thrust in. 

His first few thrusts are shallow rolls of his hips, and Rowena doesn’t have the leverage to spur him on. Instead, she leans in close, nipping his ear sharply before breathing, “If you want to do it right, you have to mean it.” 

Finger shaped bruises form on her hips, bitten hickies scatter over hear throat and chest, and when she finally comes, she jerks hard enough to send the table behind her skidding. Sam throws his head back with a cry, dragging her close, and shoving in deep as he comes with a shudder. 

Rowena stumbles a little as he shifts her to standing, and there’s already some of his come slipping down her thigh. Tucking himself away, Sam leans over the table to complete the spell, adding the last ingredient and murmuring the incantation. Tight ropes wend around her, sending her crashing to the floor, and she growls up at the smug grin of the hunter. 

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I guess you do.” 


End file.
